


Carpe Diem

by INMH



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the Les Miserables kink meme. It wasn't until the revolution became real, a tangible thing that was definitely going to happen soon, very soon, rather than some vague date in a possible future that Enjolras began to take stock of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carpe Diem

**Author's Note:**

> [Link to the Les Miserables Kink Meme on LJ.](http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html#comments)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Oh my God, I don't even know what happened. It wasn't supposed to be this long- I somehow gained the ability to write really long stories, seemingly overnight. Unfortunately, the longer it takes to write the more often I get distracted, and a week or two later (after countless time-honored procrastination techniques) it's finally done.

[-Enjolras-]

"Are you certain you're ready for this?"

That was a loaded question.

[-]

Enjolras was the only one of their group of friends (aside from Marius) who had not taken a lover at one point or another, be they female or male. He had privately deduced that he was more attracted to the latter than the former. In the last several years, years in which his peers had actively begun to explore their sexuality, Enjolras had been content to ignore any feelings, any vague stirrings of desire that might otherwise distract him from his ultimate goal: The liberation of France from tyranny.

If he ever felt a slight tingle at the sight of another man, if his mind ever drifted a bit and began to wonder what it might be like to be touched or kissed, it never lasted for long. His energy was dedicated to and spent on revolution and reform, his dreams of a free France that stood on the ideals of _liberté, égalité_ and _fraternité_. Enjolras knew from observing his fellows the requirements of a relationship, and did not have the time or the focus to dedicate to another. And so he abstained.

It wasn't until the revolution became real, a tangible thing that was definitely going to happen soon, very soon, rather than some vague date in a possible future that Enjolras began to take stock of his life. He was not so naïve to think that such a revolution could be won without blood spilt; and he was not so foolish as to believe that his own life could not be easily taken in the fray.

It brought into play the question that many might ask when they knew death was imminent: 'Was my life worthwhile? Did I do everything I could? Did I live it to the fullest? Do I regret doing or not doing something that I could have?' Overall, Enjolras was quite pleased with his life: He had done his best to strive for the betterment of his fellow man, worked for causes he knew would benefit many in the long-run; he was a good student and, he liked to think, a good friend. He had had many opportunities in his life, and he had taken advantage of most of them.

But of course, there was one that he had _avoided_ taking advantage of that stuck out.

For the first time, Enjolras began to consider the possibility of engaging in some sort of romantic or sexual activity. Judging from the way his friends spoke of the subject, it was a worthy endeavor to embark upon before dying, and for all he had avoided it, Enjolras _was_ curious. Like the idea of the revolution, the concept of taking a partner became slowly more realistic as time went on.

There were, of course, pitfalls in the plan. Enjolras was starting off on this path with the knowledge that the coming revolution could take his life; and he meant to start something with someone? How could that be fair to the other half of this proposed pair? Did Enjolras even want a 'relationship', per se? Did he maybe only want to experience sex, and how might he go about requesting such a thing without offending a potential partner, without making them feel like he was using them?

The solutions began to trickle down like water off of a rooftop. Simply being upfront about his intentions from the beginning would solve the issue of what was to be expected within a relationship; if someone was content with just sex, fine- if not, he would move on. If they wanted more and Enjolras was willing to try, then that was fine as well. All that mattered was making sure that there was no confusion as to what both parties expected.

As for actually _finding_ a partner…

Well. That he would have to play by ear.

[-]

Starting within his circle of most trusted people seemed reasonable.

Enjolras observed each of his friends in turn. Joly, Bahorel and Courfeyrac all had mistresses that they were faithful to. Bossuet was inclined to sharing Joly's mistress- and possibly Joly as well, creating a dynamic that Enjolras thought would be unwise to interfere with.

Prouvaire, Combeferre and Feuilly were not, to the best of Enjolras's knowledge, currently involved in any relationships. But of the three of them, Feuilly was not a student: He was a worker, and was required to work long hours to support himself. Much of the time he did not spend working was spent at the meetings of the ABC and their other activities, and Enjolras did not feel like depriving him of what little private time and energy he retained for himself.

Prouvaire and Combeferre, though, were possibilities. Aside from the fact that Enjolras knew they both had (theoretically) enough time and energy to expend, they were also the softest members of the group: Prouvaire simply couldn't bear the thought of wounding anyone's heart, and Combeferre was, of the entire group, the closest to Enjolras. If they were uninterested in pursuing a relationship of any sort, Enjolras knew that they were the least likely to react badly to him inquiring about it.

The last dilemma that occurred to Enjolras involved actually approaching an intended partner. How did one go about initiating such things? While in most things he preferred directness, Enjolras had a feeling that simply going up and asking was not considered tactful, not in this context. As he had never engaged in a relationship deeper than friendship before, the subtleties of romance largely escaped him. Of course, too much subtlety might result in said partner being uncertain of the signals they were receiving and distancing themselves to avoid confusion- leaving Enjolras damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

Enjolras could feel a headache coming on, and suddenly remembered one of the other reasons why he had avoided such interactions with others in the past: Intimacy was complicated.

He resolved to watch and wait. Enjolras would observe the behavior of his fellows in the ABC club, Combeferre and Prouvaire in particular, and work out a strategy in the meantime for what might be the best way (if any) to approach them. He knew his instincts were good, and that when an opportunity presented itself he would find a way to act accordingly.

Hopefully.

[-]

It was during this time of quiet observation and contemplation that an unexpected avenue made itself apparent in the form of Grantaire.

Enjolras was sitting quietly following a meeting one night, watching as Courfeyrac regaled their fellows with some story about how a simple trip to a café with Marius had turned into a whirlwind of mayhem resulting in significant property damage and a runaway horse. He sat slightly apart from his cackling companions, arms crossed, occasionally cracking a smile or allowing a small chuckle to escape.

It was Grantaire that pulled up a chair near to Enjolras, Grantaire that flashed him a smile and said, "Enjolras, care for some wine?" He proffered the wine bottle in his hand towards the blonde. When Enjolras hesitated, he said, "Come now, I hardly think a single glass will ruin you!"

There was something in Grantaire's demeanor that convinced Enjolras to take the bottle and pour himself a glass. Upon further contemplation later on in the evening, once he had returned home and had a chance to reflect, Enjolras thought that maybe it was that the smile on his face had been unusually welcoming. For the time being, he dismissed the encounter as Grantaire's usual desire to get everyone in the Musain as drunk as possible and let it be.

It was only after another two weeks of careful observation- this time with a sliver of the scope dedicated to Grantaire- that Enjolras began to pick up on some signs.

Grantaire would, during meetings and less formal get-togethers, look at Enjolras quite a bit. Enjolras had caught the other man's gaze focused on him in the past, but for the first time he really noticed and took count of how many times he might catch Grantaire glancing away when their eyes met. He took note of all of the times Grantaire might stand up and walk near to him, either to speak to someone else or get a drink; he also paid attention to how many times Grantaire spoke to him, or tried to start conversation.

And Enjolras began to wonder.

Enjolras did not hate Grantaire, but rather his tendency towards cynicism in regards to their cause- and, of course, alcohol. God, but sometimes he felt like dropping his head to the tabletop and declaring a meeting over because Grantaire waltzed in, drunk enough to shame even Dionysus. There were times when Enjolras was irritated enough to snap at the older man, telling him to go home and sleep off his stupor without interrupting their plans.

But as he started to pay attention, Enjolras noted something interesting: Grantaire did not drink as much when Enjolras was speaking. The bottle was in his hands, and occasionally he would sip, but as long as Enjolras was speaking to the room or directly to Grantaire, the rate at which he drank was lessened. When the room broke off into different groups and conversations, or someone else took center stage to share their opinion, the rate at which he drank increased.

Enjolras also considered, upon further examination, that Grantaire almost never contradicted him directly. He was willing to argue with just about any other member of the ABC over their ideals, but it was rare that he openly, directly disagreed with Enjolras. And even when Enjolras was mid-speech about those very same ideals, Grantaire looked at him with interest and veneration even though he'd made it very clear he didn't believe a word of it.

So Enjolras began to suspect.

And consider.

And finally he decided:

_Why not?_

[-]

As it so happened, establishing something with Grantaire was easier than Enjolras thought it would be- largely because there wasn't too much there to begin with. Simple interaction seemed like the best first step to take.

He deliberately made sure that he was positioned near Grantaire during a meeting to ensure that the question he eventually posed would not seem to be directed at him for any reason other than convenience. "Grantaire, do you suppose approaching fellow students from the university would be wise? I'm concerned that those with significant bourgeois sympathies we don't know about might be inclined to warning the authorities of our movements."

Enjolras saw Grantaire falter, blinking owlishly in surprise. Given that Grantaire didn't truly believe in their revolution, Enjolras did not usually bother to ask his opinion during meetings. This question, however, didn't require belief- just logic. "Well- I don't- Maybe. It might be worth it if they were to be approached on an individual basis. And then if the authorities were to become involved, you might better know who had betrayed you."

Enjolras nodded. "Sound reasoning." Grantaire perked up, and his overall demeanor seemed to become a bit brighter.

"Indeed." Combeferre agreed. "And I might know a way that we can covertly discover who might lean which way." As Combeferre went on to explain the plan, Grantaire offered up an opinion or two further, and Enjolras saw a few hopeful looks directed at him. It was entirely possible that Enjolras was mistaking admiration for attraction, but the fact was that Grantaire seemed to care very much about pleasing him- so long as personal beliefs didn't enter into the mix anymore than they had to.

The meeting lasted until about eight o' clock. Once it had concluded, Enjolras was- not for the first time- prodded at by his companions to join them in less serious pursuits.

"Grantaire has found a lovely restaurant not too far from the Seine; it's not all that expensive, the food is good and- Enjolras, Enjolras, pleased come with us!" Courfeyrac begged. "Take some time away from the barricades in your mind!"

"I…" Enjolras opened his mouth, intending to mention the class assignments he had at home that required his attention. But then he saw Grantaire watching, eyes intent, gnawing lightly on his bottom lip as he awaited Enjolras's response. "…I suppose I can spare some time."

As it so happened, Enjolras spent the night shoulder-to-shoulder with Grantaire; the restaurant was crowded, others apparently attracted by the same aspects that Courfeyrac had used to tempt Enjolras. The group was, however, fortunate enough to secure a table, and it was at that table that Enjolras and Grantaire stayed when Courfeyrac and Bahorel jumped up to greet friends that had just walked in; Feuilly and Combeferre had declined the initial invitation, and Joly and Bossuet were lost in the crowd somewhere.

This, of course, gave an opportunity to talk. "I am still reeling- positively _reeling_ , Enjolras- that you decided to join us. What catastrophe could this be heralding? Could the end of the world be upon us?" Grantaire's tone was entirely jovial, and the grin on his face was broad.

"I hardly think choosing to spend a night with my friends is a sign of the end-times, Grantaire." Enjolras said coolly, fingers pushing at the cup holding the wine he had ordered (and yet barely touched). "And I could easily make a similar inquiry of you."

Grantaire's eyebrows popped up at that. "What inquiry might that be?"

"You call yourself a member of our group and keep our company, and yet you hold none of our beliefs." He was careful to keep his wording vague in the event that they were overheard by the wrong person. "Just as I might be more inclined to avoid outings such as this, one might think you would be inclined to keep clear of people who hold such different beliefs from your own."

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Of course we must come back to this. Allow me to state this as a disclaimer: I neither believe nor disbelieve in your collective ideals." When Enjolras frowned in confusion, he elaborated. "I do not disagree with the sentiment that all men should be equal. I would like very much for every human being to be treated with respect, save for those who have made themselves into creatures beyond respect."

"Such as?" Enjolras interrupted when Grantaire paused for breath.

"Those who murder for the sake of murder, those who are unrepentantly cruel to the weak and helpless, those who generally lack any form of empathy or kindness that does not suit their needs." Grantaire said, twitching his bottle back and forth with each example. He took a drink from it, sighed, and then added, "And those who pour out their chamber-pots from high windows without looking to see if there is anyone walking directly below. They are deserving of a special compartment in Hell."

Enjolras laughed, and Grantaire smiled. "Go on."

"My point," Grantaire continued, "is that of course I would like all of humanity to engage in a massive orgy of freedom and equality- who wouldn't?" He paused to grin as Enjolras chuckled slightly. "But I do not believe that it will happen in ours or anyone else's lifetime. The desire is sound; but the quest for the utopia you seek is unrealistic."

Enjolras sobered slightly. "And why is that?"

Grantaire shrugged. "Years upon years upon years of human history. Every society has striven for perfection, and everyone in one way or another has fallen into ruin. It is human nature to be selfish, to establish dominance over one another, to become corrupted by power when it is given to us, and for all humans to dissent over what is best for society; to create a utopia is to expect most of humanity to abandon its flaws, and that isn't going to happen." Though he appeared nonchalant, Enjolras noticed that Grantaire was watching his expression carefully, trying to figure out if he should back off or not. Enjolras was careful not to appear upset as he mulled over that sentiment.

"So you believe… That there is no point to striving for better things, because in the end our civilization will collapse under humanity's flaws?"

"Collapse, or drastically change- and not necessarily in a good way. And for the record, it isn't that I see _no_ point in seeking change for the better; I just see very little." Enjolras had never heard Grantaire explain himself this way before, and couldn't tell if it was because he had never been asked, or if it was because Enjolras was the one doing the asking this time.

"Do you think our revolution is worthless?"

Grantaire seemed to think carefully about his answer. "Truthfully, I think you aim too high, and that puts you and your revolution at a higher chance of failing. Trying to gain too much too fast could lead to the collapse of what progress has already been made through less extreme means."

In truth, Enjolras had considered such things; he was not the leader of the ABC for nothing. His lip twitched, threatening a smile as he countered, "If the target is too far away, an archer should aim higher so that he might reach his goal. Just as progress could collapse, it could also be made."

"Did you just quote Machiavelli at me?"

"Loosely."

Grantaire grinned widely. "He wrote that entire book with princes in mind. You fancy yourself a prince now?"

"You will watch yourself if you don't want to wear that alcohol." Enjolras said. Grantaire cackled, and his hand came up to pat Enjolras's with a level of camaraderie they hadn't quite attained before.

But Enjolras noticed, _oh_ how he noticed, that Grantaire's hand lingered atop his own for a moment, just a little bit longer than perhaps an explanation of friendship could suffice to explain. The little bell in his mind rang a bit louder when Grantaire suddenly moved his hand back to the tabletop and looked away, anywhere but at Enjolras's eyes.

And Enjolras knew.

[-]

Enjolras liked to think that it was the clarification of Grantaire's beliefs that won him over. The idea that Grantaire viewed total equality and freedom as philosophically unrealistic was a bit easier to stomach than what Enjolras had previously believed about him. He didn't necessarily agree with the cynic's assertion that men were so inclined to corruption and greed, nor would he ever abide by the idea that revolutions were essentially pointless, but he could understand why Grantaire saw it that way.

The differences in their philosophies on life and liberty would likely not disappear, but Enjolras did not see them as a hindrance. Grantaire had sparked his interest, offered him a challenge intellectually, was well-versed in politics even if he held little interest in them; and when he didn't feel like being deliberately or drunkenly contentious, Grantaire was surprisingly pleasant company overall. He was even more agreeable when sober, and Enjolras considered all of those things to be sufficient evidence that approaching Grantaire for… _Something_ would go well.

There was, of course, a caveat that Enjolras had to consider: Grantaire's supposed interest in him likely extended a little further than simple lust. Enjolras detected emotions, affection; going back to his earlier considerations of what he was looking for when he started this, there had been hesitation to start a relationship with all the bells and whistles of an emotional, mental and sexual affair due to the effort that such a thing required. But going to Grantaire purely with sexual endeavors in mind felt like it would be… Inappropriate.

The idea of physical intimacy was somehow a little less daunting than emotional intimacy, but Enjolras considered that now might be the time to take such a risk.

It happened simply enough: Grantaire was woozy with alcohol and made to leave for his flat not too far from the Musain. Enjolras quietly excused himself and caught up with Grantaire just as he was stepping out of the main door.

"Hello, Grantaire. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Of course not!" Grantaire was slurring slightly, and on a scale of one to ten, Enjolras might rank his drunkenness at a four or five. He was showing obvious signs of drunkenness, but was still reasonably coherent. The dark-haired man clapped a hand on Enjolras's shoulder. "I don't live far. Would you care to come in for a drink?"

"Not tonight, I think. Perhaps another time."

Grantaire shrugged and went about humming some vaguely familiar song as they walked. He seemed completely at ease; Enjolras, meanwhile, was silently growing more and more anxious, knowing clearly what he intended to say but uncertain if it was a good idea, if maybe he should wait-

"Right here! Are you certain you wouldn't like to come inside and have a drink, Enjolras? I would so like the company." There was something in his eyes and the way that he smiled, and even Enjolras couldn't overlook the fact that Grantaire was openly (though drunkenly) flirting with him. Something tugged at Enjolras, and a surprisingly large part of him wanted to say yes- but he knew better.

"No, Grantaire, I cannot. Another night."

Grantaire sighed. "Oh well. No one can say that I didn't make a good effort of it. Perhaps it's for the best: I should probably get to sleep now, as I was thinking of doing some painting tomorrow. Remind me to show you sometime, Enjolras, the horrors I have created while hung-over or deprived of sleep. They are quite a sight." Grantaire started towards the steps of the building. But before he could stumble inside, Enjolras caught his wrist and held him back.

"Grantaire."

"Hm?"

"Would you…?" Enjolras glanced away, and he could feel the hand on Grantaire's wrist starting to tremble a bit from nerves. "Would you, perhaps, be willing to come by my apartment tomorrow night? I'd like to speak with you about something."

"You cannot speak to me now? Here?" Grantaire asked, though he hardly sounded put-out by the suggestion.

"No. This is a conversation best left for when you've had a chance to sleep off your fun from this evening." To Enjolras's relief, Grantaire seemed to receive that well. He remembered a bit too clearly now the expressions on his face in the past when reprimanded for his drinking habits. "Would you?"

"May I _at least_ have a hint as to what the topic of discussion will be?" Grantaire drawled, finally turning his body to fully face Enjolras and twisting out of the blonde's grip. Once he had, he held Enjolras's hand in a gentle but firm grip, playfully daring Enjolras with his eyes to deny him an answer and still try to reclaim his hand.

_Oh God, I can't, he's drunk, I doubt he'll even remember this tomorrow morning- but maybe that's a good thing, because I am fairly certain I'm about to make an ass out of myself if I haven't already-_

Enjolras leaned forward and kissed Grantaire.

It barely lasted ten seconds, but the shock of it was enough to cause Grantaire's hold on Enjolras's hand to disappear. Once he pulled back, Enjolras saw how the older man's eyes had widened.

_Stupid, foolish,_ _**bad** _ _idea, I should have simply left it at the request and walked away-_

But then Grantaire blinked, and then he nodded. "Well then- I will see you tomorrow night. He turned around stumbled into the building without looking back.

Enjolras covered his reddening face with both hands, accepted that he had made a fool of himself, and went home in a state of thorough embarrassment.

[-Grantaire-]

Grantaire was reasonably certain that he was hallucinating.

 _I should really cut back on the absinthe_ , He thought to himself, a sentiment that might have made many who knew him drop from shock. _If I am hallucinating that Enjolras has been kissing me, then I am clearly imbibing too much. Far too much. In fact, it may be that I've killed myself with absinthe and have gone to heaven; the kiss I received was not Enjolras, but in fact an angel. Not that there's ever been much of a difference between the two._

In all seriousness, Grantaire had been drunk enough the night previously that his recollection of the events that had taken place was a little spotty. He was reasonably certain that yes, _yes_ , Enjolras had kissed him- but the concept was so wildly unusual that he couldn't help but wonder if the line between drunken reality and drunken dreams had blurred, and maybe it had only been a vision in his mind. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time he had dreamed about such a thing.

Indeed, he had had more than his fair share of fantasies. Some were sexual- oh, the things he would do if Enjolras allowed it of him- and many were chaste, as simple as wishing that he could sit closer to Enjolras or make him laugh. Those fantasies, however, had somehow become a reality within the last few weeks: Out of nowhere, Enjolras had started asking Grantaire's opinion during meetings, gotten physically and, Grantaire felt, _emotionally_ closer than they had ever been.

It was more than he had ever dared to hope for.

And Grantaire had no desire to undo any of it through a misunderstanding.

He lay awake in his bed for a while as he nursed his (comparatively mild) hangover and tried to piece together the events of the previous night. The memory _seemed_ to fit in with the flow of everything he was reasonably certain had happened, rather than having any elements that seemed out of place (aside from the obvious), so… So Grantaire dared to believe that it had happened. Enjolras had _kissed_ him, and the thought made him dizzy with glee.

But now what?

'Would you, perhaps, be willing to come by my apartment tomorrow night', Enjolras had said, and the memory of his voice made Grantaire's fingers curl into the sheets. Good- this presented an opportunity to either debunk or secure what he suspected. Grantaire could drop by Enjolras's flat and casually ask if he had mentioned something about coming to visit; if Enjolras had no idea what he was talking about, then the incident was an illusion that had never happened. And if he confirmed that he had said it…

Well, Grantaire would cross (nay, _sprint_ ) that bridge when he came to it.

He took 'night' to mean 'some time after five o' clock' and spent the rest of the day becoming completely, utterly, wildly sober, and found that the state was far more enjoyable on this particular day than it usually was. He took care with how he dressed, tried to make sure that the smell of stale alcohol wasn't so apparent on his vest and jacket.

Then, for the remainder of the time he had, Grantaire tried to paint. Oh, how he tried. But the brush only moved absently across the paper, creating long streaks of pale, watery red as Grantaire wondered what the night would bring. Under the assumption that he hadn't dreamt that Enjolras's lips were as soft as he thought they would be, there were still a number of different ways their impending conversation could go.

Enjolras was not a man inclined to showing intimate emotions with others. The closest he ever came (to the best of Grantaire's knowledge) was a warm clap of Combeferre's shoulder and a smile when he was pleased; or a clasp of Courfeyrac's hand and a slight chuckle when the other man performed a task exceptionally. Aside from that, the man kept his hands and his heart to himself.

There were so, _so_ many ways that Grantaire could interpret what that kiss meant as he idly rubbed the brush over the paper until the pale shade of red began to consolidate into something a little darker.

He forced himself to wait.

[-]

The walk to Enjolras's flat seemed to take an eternity.

Two or three times, Grantaire was seized by a sudden moment of doubt and panic, leading him to flounder and almost turn back. A part of him- that nasty, cynical part that never shut up in his mind- was convinced that the odds of this encounter ending well were slim. There was always the possibility that it _had_ been a dream; there was also the possibility that if it wasn't, Enjolras had had second thoughts. Or maybe if they spoke, he would realize it was a mistake- or Grantaire might say just the wrong thing, and they would be back to square one.

In the end, though, he kept right on going.

Upon reaching Enjolras's building and going inside, Grantaire had to pretend that he was going to someone else's apartment for an entirely different reason, lest he lose his nerve completely. After a deep breath and a quiet reminder that self-fulfilling prophecies _did_ exist, Grantaire knocked on Enjolras's door.

The pause was short but awful, and Grantaire strained to hear any sounds from within the apartment. After a moment, the unmistakable sound of footsteps crossing the floor could be heard, and he had to take another deep breath. The worst moment came when the footsteps stopped for a few seconds, but the door did not open; it was hesitation, and of all the doubts he had had that night, it was the closest Grantaire came to just turning around and going right back home.

But then there were another few footsteps, the doorknob turned, and the door opened to reveal his Apollo in all of his glory. To his credit, Enjolras's expression suggested that there had never been any hesitation in answering the door at all. "Grantaire."

"Enjolras. I… Well," Grantaire gave a slightly nervous laugh. "This might sound a bit odd- If I'm wrong, anyway, I don't know. You see, I was a bit drunk last night, and I thought that perhaps you had asked me to come visit you? But I suppose it could have been an illusion brought on by the absinthe, the Green Fairy does like her little jokes-" The laughter died as Enjolras wordlessly stepped aside to grant him entry.

"The Green Fairy didn't deceive you, Grantaire." Enjolras clarified as Grantaire stepped inside. "I did ask you to come and speak with me."

"And then you kissed me." Mentally, Grantaire slapped himself. _Stupid! It's called_ _ **tact**_ _, you fool!_

He thought maybe he was seeing things when Grantaire thought he detected… a _blush_ on Enjolras's cheeks? No, certainly not. Enjolras- the man who could stand before a crowd and straight-facedly denounce the monarchy, which occasionally ended in him having insults and random objects hurled at his head- did not _blush_.

"I did." Grantaire must have been seeing things, because Enjolras's voice was as steady as could be. Enjolras's apartment was small and sparse and (surprisingly, as Grantaire thought him the type that would be almost obsessively tidy) cluttered with books, and so when Grantaire was offered a seat the only place he really _could_ sit was on the edge of Enjolras's bed. Certain implications were there, though whether they would be acknowledged or not remained to be seen.

"Ah, so I wasn't hallucinating. Good to know." Grantaire nodded lightly as he took a seat.

"Did I overstep my bounds?" Enjolras asked. While his tone was calm, cool, composed (and remained standing, notably), Grantaire could detect a hint of uncertainty, genuine worry that he may have done something improper.

"Oh no, no, goodness no, I didn't have a problem with it." Grantaire quickly assured him, waving a hand. "Though, if you could be so kind as to clearly state what your intentions were in doing it? Just so there's no confusion?"

"My intentions?" Enjolras pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. Normally Grantaire prided himself on being able to read Enjolras, knowing (generally) what was going through the younger man's head at a particular time. This was largely uncharted territory, though, and even Enjolras himself didn't seem to know what to say as he wandered over to the bed and sat down next to Grantaire. "I suppose… I don't have a clear answer for that, I'm afraid."

Grantaire considered his next words carefully, having a few different trains of thought he intended to bring up. "Would you like it to happen again?"

"Preferably, if you don't object."

"And why, if I may ask? Over the last few weeks you've been paying an unusual amount of attention to me, Enjolras- and by that, I mean you've done more than suggest I go home and sleep off my drunkenness-" Enjolras's face contorted ever-so-slightly into what could be interpreted as a wince. "-so why, if I may, have you suddenly decided that you would like my company… Romantically?" Once the question was out, Grantaire found that he had a burning, _burning_ desire to have it answered.

This time, Enjolras's hesitation seemed to suggest that he had a ready answer, but was maybe not completely open to sharing it. "I… Have recently taken stock of my life, and found that I may be in the mood to try something new." Enjolras said delicately, and oh, he was using that born politician's tongue that knew how to craft speech to his liking. Grantaire was wary of it, and he crossed his arms.

"That satisfies part of my question. Why _me_ , though? And what, precisely, do you want to try? Forgive me, Enjolras: I am a cynic, and we are prone to suspicion."

"As well you should be," Enjolras said quickly, meeting Grantaire's eyes (he had previously been avoiding them, focusing on a loose thread on his blanket). "Suspicion in some amount is good, and I can understand how you might wonder at my behavior. To put it simply… I am interested in you. And if I have been interpreting your more subtle behaviors correctly, I believe that you are interested in me as well?"

'Interested', he said! How little he knew, how little he had seen of Grantaire's desire. 'Interested' barely covered it, was a massive understatement: Grantaire had been all a-flutter over Enjolras for the last two years, only just managing to avoid tipping over into the likeness of a silly, giggling mess. 'Interested' did not even begin to cover it, the nights he had been kept awake from the energy he had taken from Enjolras's passionate speeches, or the days when his mind had wandered and his art was all of golden-haired angels.

' _Interested'_.

"Yes, Enjolras, I am interested."

[-]

And so it began- slowly.

It became fairly obvious from day one that Enjolras hadn't been exaggerating when he said that this was something new to him. Before, it had been a rarity to see a break in Enjolras's storied composure: He managed questions and setbacks and confusion under a cool, determined veneer of 'I don't know, but we'll manage' and pressed on. However, in the small moments when he and Grantaire were alone together- when Grantaire started to test the waters of their newfound relationship- that façade slipped away, and it became painfully obvious that he didn't know what to do.

For instance: Unless his lovers requested he behave otherwise, Grantaire tended to be a very tactile partner. He held hands, he hugged, he touched their hair, he kissed lazily and frequently in the moments when it was appropriate (and depending on the partner, sometimes when it was inappropriate as well). He enjoyed physical closeness to whoever he was with, and given that he had been waiting a very, _very_ long time to be physically close to Enjolras, he was eager to see what the other man liked.

Enjolras did not seem to _dislike_ closeness or physical contact- he seemed surprised and a bit befuddled by it. When Grantaire first put a hand on Enjolras's at dinner in the same café they had gone to with their friends (discreetly, of course- Enjolras's hand was on his knee, and not visible from most angles by anyone else in the area), the younger man had jumped sharply as though Grantaire had kicked him. Grantaire had apologized and attempted to remove his hand, but Enjolras had hurriedly offered an apology of his own and insisted that he wasn't bothered, clasping Grantaire's hand and pulling it back to its previous position.

They had many moments like that. To date they had not even kissed, and Grantaire had deliberately avoided doing so based on the reactions he had gotten for small, simple touches. If a hand on his own made Enjolras start so badly, Grantaire did not want to think of what he might do if kissed without proper warning.

"Does my touching you bother you so, Enjolras?" Grantaire inquired. Enjolras had dug a chair out from under the massive pile of books in the corner of the room; Grantaire occupied it, drawing on his sketchpad as Enjolras lied on the bed and read. "Because I can stop." It was not a threat, but Enjolras seemed to take it as one.

"I'm sorry. I do not mean to be off-putting."

"You're not. But every time I touch you, it seems to make you uncomfortable. If it bothers you, I'll stop."

"It doesn't." Enjolras assured, and Grantaire rolled his eyes.

"I grasped your elbow yesterday and you nearly shot through the roof. I take that as discomfort."

"It _isn't_." Enjolras insisted, setting his book aside and sitting up. "Touch does not bother me. I just-" He faltered. Grantaire sighed and put his sketchpad aside, and then came to sit beside Enjolras on the bed. He pointedly looked the blonde in the eye before slowly and very clearly bringing his hand down to rest atop the other's. Enjolras sighed, but did not look distressed.

"Maybe I need only give ample warning when I intend to get close to you. Shall I wear a bell, Enjolras? That way you can hear me coming and take the appropriate-" For the second time, Grantaire was treated to the most delightful sensation of Enjolras's lips covering his own, silencing the dark-haired man's teasing.

It felt less like the glorious leader of the ABC taking charge and more like an inexperienced twenty-two year-old trying to prove to both Grantaire and himself that physical contact wasn't a problem for him. But Grantaire was a little more observant than he usually let on- especially where Enjolras was concerned. It was what allowed him to notice the ever-so-slight tremble in the blonde's fingers as he cupped his face, the clumsy and hurried way he moved his lips against Grantaire's. It was Grantaire who eventually took control, slowing the kiss with a practiced ease and sliding a hand through Enjolras's hair in an attempt to calm him.

Enjolras's naturally commanding personality was coming into conflict with the nervousness born of his naïveté in this particular field. Grantaire was of two minds: On one hand, there was a certain thrill to being the one with the experience, the one who knew where to go and was therefore able to guide Enjolras. But on another, the task was daunting- it was, after all, _Enjolras_.

When Enjolras's breath started coming a little too harshly for Grantaire's liking, he pulled back. The blonde glanced away; his face was red, and his chest was heaving. "Would you like to stop for just now, Enjolras?" The dark-haired man suggested, attempting to keep his tone casual and light.

"I-" Enjolras looked like he was about to object, but then sighed. "Very well."

"Excellent." Grantaire picked up the book the blonde had been reading, and then he pushed Enjolras so that he was lying back against the pillow again. Once he was settled, Grantaire laid down next to him, a head on his shoulder and a hand over his heart.

"How quickly your heart's beating!" Grantaire said, fingers idly kneading the skin over the pounding muscle. Enjolras let out a shaky breath, and his body was more or less completely tense.

"I am inexperienced." He confessed, one hand coming up to cover Grantaire's.

"With kissing?" Grantaire was teasing, but Enjolras took it seriously.

"With- everything." The way in which he said it made it very clear that he was only referring to a specific subject. He looked ashamed to admit it, as though lacking knowledge in one area when he excelled in a thousand others was somehow an unforgivable sin.

"Well, I've no objections to tutoring you in that." Before Enjolras could become bothered by that idea, Grantaire changed the subject. "Now, what is it that you're reading- _Les Confessions_? Of course it's Rousseau."

While Grantaire didn't particularly enjoy Rousseau, he convinced Enjolras to read aloud. His fingers stayed over the younger man's heart, lightly rubbing, and after a time the tension drained from Enjolras's body.

[-]

Things continued at a slow but steady pace.

Emotional intimacy came a bit faster than physical intimacy, and Grantaire reveled in it. He forced himself to stay as sober he could be as often as he could, and it was clear that Enjolras was drawn to him better that way. He smiled a little more readily, was willing to drift away from his revolutionary musings a little more often, and whenever he looked at Grantaire his gaze was quite a bit warmer.

Insofar as the physical went, Grantaire was a patient teacher, and Enjolras a dedicated student. There came a time when Grantaire's presence was enough to ease Enjolras, relax him rather than cause him to shyly (however badly that word seemed to fit with him) withdraw into his carefully-constructed defenses. They stuck to kisses and light touches, and Grantaire was pleased to find that Enjolras was prone to quivering at most manners of touch, having been unaccustomed to anything of an intimate nature previously.

It came to a point, unfortunately, that Enjolras became so accustomed to Grantaire's touch that he had learned to ignore it and barely react so as to frustrate the other man. On one such night, Enjolras was lying back and Grantaire was sitting up on the bed, back to the wall and fingers idly sliding over the blonde's hipbone. Enjolras was fixated on his book and whatever notes he kept scribbling on the paper pressed against the page, acting as though Grantaire wasn't there. The older man might have taken it as Enjolras being too involved in what he was doing to pay attention, but whenever he applied a bit more pressure in his ministrations with the deliberate intention of getting a reaction, he would see a slight twitch in the younger's lip before blankness set in again.

Grantaire decided to take a different tact; maybe Enjolras was up to some exploration tonight. "Tell me, Enjolras: Have you ever thought about touching another man?" He asked as the fingers of his hand slid down to Enjolras's thigh.

"Other than you?" Damn him for managing to keep his voice so steady. Virgin or not, Grantaire loved to hear his lovers wrecked.

"I mean, lying in bed at night and…" Grantaire trailed off pointedly, cocking an eyebrow at his intended lover and let his hand drift down to Enjolras's inner-thigh.

 _Finally_ , Enjolras lowered his book and looked at Grantaire. "Have I… Fantasized about other men, you mean?"

"And had fun doing it?" Enjolras blinked uncomprehendingly. "Fun?" Grantaire emphasized the word with a little pressure to Enjolras's thigh, and was rewarded with a little shift; but no comprehension in his Apollo's eyes. "You know- what people usually do when they are alone, and become aroused?"

It clicked. "Masturbation?"

" _Yes_."

"Oh. Well- Once or twice, when I was younger." Enjolras admitted with a faint blush that could have partially been attributed to the slow circles Grantaire's fingers were now rubbing on his leg.

"So, not for a while."

"No."

"Why not?"

Enjolras set his book, paper and pen down, and the fact that they were set on the floor gave Grantaire hope that they might be in for some fun. "My passions were better spent towards the betterment of mankind. My energy was and still is largely expended during the day and often into the night working on schoolwork or activism, and the idea of spending it on an activity that served little to no purpose seemed pointless."

Not for the first time, Grantaire wondered if Enjolras was human. "'Little to no purpose'? It's pleasurable, that's its purpose."

"Working hard brings me great pleasure."

"Not this kind of pleasure. And if you beg to differ, I will gladly show you how wrong you are." Grantaire smirked. "Do you beg to differ, Enjolras?"

Enjolras eyed him silently, considering what was to come if he allowed it, and then nodded. It was a gesture that reminded Grantaire eerily of Combeferre, whenever the man assented to considering a thesis of some sort.

Grantaire's smile grew a little less mischievous as his hand made the short jump from Enjolras's thigh to the buttons of his trousers and pulled them open. Grantaire crawled over to straddle Enjolras's legs, and as he tugged the younger man's pants down, felt the body beneath him stiffen. "Are you all right?"

"Perfectly." Not entirely truthful, but not quite a lie either. After so much time spent observing Enjolras, Grantaire was reasonably confident that he could read the man's body-language effectively enough. He would know when to stop, even if Enjolras didn't say it plainly.

He pulled the blonde's cock out and saw Enjolras's fingers curl into the sheets. "It's fine," He said when Grantaire fixed him with a look.

"You are certain about this? I can stop."

"What will it take for you to stop coddling me?" Enjolras snapped with sudden irritation. "I can handle this."

"It will take time and experience." Grantaire responded promptly, fingers idly dancing along Enjolras's length. "Until then, Enjolras, I will be vigilant for any signs of discomfort from you. I'll not have your first foray into the world of sex be unpleasant because I failed to be aware of your limits."

The answer seemed to take Enjolras aback. Some of the tension left his shoulders, and his eyes softened a bit. "I suppose I should be thankful for that." He muttered.

"Yes, you should." Grantaire agreed before removing his hand and scooting up so that he could lean over and give Enjolras a brief, chaste kiss. After pulling back, he edged backwards to his previous position. "I mean, really, there are so many that would lose control at the sight of your unearthly beauty, driven to madness by the sheer intensity of your perfection. Of course, I would be lying to both of us if I said I hadn't had a dream or two about throwing you onto a bed and ravishing you."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Have you, now?"

"Oh yes. On a bed, against the wall, on the floor-" Amidst the listing, Grantaire had lightly gripped Enjolras's length and bent down a bit, and Enjolras seemed to be torn between paying attention to Grantaire's movements and paying attention to his words. "-bent over a desk, on my lap, on _your_ lap- well, I think you get the idea." Grantaire had told Enjolras not too long ago of his long-standing attraction to him, and Enjolras had been largely unfazed by the admission.

Grantaire leaned forward and took the tip of Enjolras's cock into his mouth, and in return received a slight jerk and gasp of surprise.

"Grantaire-"

Grantaire pulled off. "No?"

"No, no, I just- You startled me."

"Apologies. May I?" With a nod in response, Grantaire dipped down and took Enjolras back into his mouth. All he did, however, was gently take him about halfway in before pulling off once more. Nevertheless, Enjolras was panting slightly, and his member stood a little prouder from Grantaire's efforts. "Ooh, I think I'm already making you eat your words." The older man crooned, grin breaking out over his face again.

His hands began to slide up and down on Enjolras, and the blonde went back to clutching the sheets with an even tighter grip than before. The strokes alternated between languid and rapid, feather-light and firm, and Grantaire used the bend of his thumb to press and rub in a way that eventually elicited a soft moan from between Enjolras's teeth. One hand slid down to tease his testicles, and that earned him a much louder noise.

Enjolras seemed largely uncertain as to what he was supposed to be doing, if anything. His hands clutched the sheets, but then he lay on his chest and dug into the fabric of his vest. One time Grantaire thought Enjolras was going to reach down and try to grab for some part of Grantaire for support, but he stayed where he was. What's more, Enjolras appeared to be trying to restrict the motion of his hips and quiet the sounds desperate to leave his mouth, trying to maintain control over his body.

But he unraveled all the same, and Grantaire felt the blonde's member twitch and pulse in his hand. "Grant- oh- _Grantaire_ , I-" Enjolras struggled to articulate himself, but Grantaire understood him just fine.

"Relax," He murmured, his right hand coming up to run over Enjolras's chest soothingly. "Just go with it." Enjolras caught his hand and gripped it tightly, breath coming faster and harder and his hips rutting helplessly up into Grantaire's hand until, finally, he let out a long, low moan and released. Grantaire focused intently on the expression on Enjolras's face so that he might better etch the image into his memory.

Once he had gotten his fill of Enjolras's beautiful face twisted in ecstasy, Grantaire whipped a handkerchief out of his pockets and calmly cleaned up the mess that had resulted from their activity. Enjolras didn't react for a time, eyes on the ceiling and left hand still clutching the blanket beneath them; his right hand was still gripping Grantaire's, though the hold wasn't as tight as it had been before. After rearranging his clothing, Grantaire lay down beside Enjolras and sighed.

"I will assume that you enjoyed that, and your currently speechlessness is a result of just how much you did."

It took Enjolras about two minutes to formulate a response. "All right." It sounded like a reluctant admission.

"Hm?"

"You were right."

It took him a moment to make the connection, but then Grantaire perked up and his grin was positively smug. "Pardon? I don't believe I heard you. One more time, a bit louder if you please."

Enjolras rolled his eyes shut in an exaggerated fashion. "You," He gave Grantaire's still-captive hand a squeeze. "Were _right._ The sensations I just experienced were a bit more pleasurable than the satisfaction I feel from working hard."

"Ah, but no more pleasure than I feel right now from hearing you admit that I was right about something." Grantaire chuckled.

They fell asleep like that, hands still entwined.

[-]

The day preceding the night things went further than ever before was a good one.

For Enjolras, anyways.

There had been talk of revolution- of a real, tangible, marching-down-the-street-waving-flags-and-guns-aloft insurrection, rather than the metaphorical kind that Combeferre had spoken of that involved knowledge as ammunition. That was, of course, precisely what Enjolras wanted: While he agreed with Combeferre insomuch as education and reason was important for change, he was also of the opinion that something a bit bigger and more noticeable (essentially, the people's anger made clearly visible) was necessary to bring about something permanent.

There had been talk, everyone teetering on the edge of not 'how' but 'when'.

But now they had a rallying point: General Lamarque. Evidently, the general had developed a case of cholera, only one of many countless people currently plagued with the illness. Grantaire's knowledge of the man was slim, save for that he was a Republican and an advocate for the rights of France's citizens; a man after Enjolras's own heart, naturally. To the best of his understanding, the loss of Lamarque (which was, according to Enjolras's intelligence, becoming more likely with every passing day) would mean the loss of a prominent and popular figure that supported the same ideas as the Les Amis de l'ABC.

"I do not revel in the idea of Lamarque's death," Enjolras said breathlessly as they walked back to his apartment. His quietly exuberant mood was evident in the fact that he was holding Grantaire's hand- normally Enjolras was strict about physical contact in public, and Grantaire had learned not to bother with anything less than perfectly discreet if he didn't want the young revolutionary angry with him. "Of course I don't. He is a good man, and losing him would be detrimental to our cause. However, the opposite is also plausible: The people of Paris love Lamarque, and his loss could be what inspires them to rise up and take matters into their own hands."

The idea of revolution made Grantaire wary. Insurrections could be messy, messy things with unforeseen consequences- the Terror being a notable and excellent example. While he had no doubt that Enjolras had zero intentions of bringing such a thing about, this was a beast far bigger than he could necessarily tame, even for all the faith Grantaire (and everyone else) had in him.

But it had been a while since Grantaire had seen Enjolras so damn _giddy_ about something, and so he held his tongue. Besides, Enjolras was smart: Surely such things had occurred to him before. And if they hadn't, Combeferre would temper him in good time.

"You would never wish death on a good man." Grantaire agreed, squeezing Enjolras's hand. "Though I think your burn for revolution has grown stronger."

Enjolras's smile was unrestrained. "It has, Grantaire. I am excited." Rarely was he so candid about his more positive emotions, preferring to hide behind a mask of generic serenity when pleased. Even more rarely was he inclined to acting out in fits of joy- which was precisely what he did when he stopped them, knotted his fingers into the front of Grantaire's jacket and pulled him in for a kiss.

The particular street they were on was more or less empty, with other occupants too far away to bother paying attention to what they did, and the night a little to dark for them to tell what they were seeing if they bothered to look. The kiss lasted maybe thirty seconds, enough time for Grantaire to curl his fingers into Enjolras's hair and sigh against his lips. Never in his wildest dreams did he, before this began, ever think they would have a moment like this. Even after weeks together, he found he had to pinch himself every now and then to ensure that the bliss he was feeling was real.

When Enjolras finally pulled back, Grantaire sucked in a deep breath before laughing. "My _goodness_ , your mood is bright enough to light the streets." He remarked.

Enjolras's smile was radiant, and so was he. "Come," He said, breaking out of the fragile embrace Grantaire had caught him in during the kiss and pulling him along towards his apartment once more.

He spoke more of revolution on the remainder of the walk, and it was nothing that Grantaire hadn't heard a thousand times before in the Musain: Barricades and guns, the people and the dawn of a new day, the ending of the dark night that had plagued France for so long. But the dark-haired man was a little hard-pressed not to be jealous, because Enjolras spoke of France and rebellion the way young men were known to speak of their mistresses. If they were not prone to discretion, would Enjolras prattle on about him and their love?

Probably not. Enjolras was not the kind to wax poetic on love, and Grantaire could not think of any traits of his own that Enjolras would be interested in bragging about to their friends (save for, perhaps, his continued sort-of-sobriety).

Once inside the building, Grantaire received another kiss on the silent staircase leading up to Enjolras's flat. "Two in one night! You must be excited."

Enjolras's smile was almost sultry. "You'll get more than that, if you like." And not even so much as a blush on his face: Enjolras was intoxicated on revolutionary fervor, and so Grantaire was put in the unfamiliar position of being the (relatively speaking) sober member of the pair.

God, what his life had become.

He followed the blonde inside. Enjolras was already in the process of shedding his jacket with one hand and lighting a candle in the other. Grantaire snorted and helped him with the clothing so that he could focus on not setting the building on fire, and soon Grantaire was pulling off his own jacket. His eyes, however, never left Enjolras.

Enjolras laid back on the bed, and oh _lord_ , he couldn't possibly know how very come-hither his assumed posture was: He leaned back on his elbows, legs slightly parted with the right crooked at the knee- coupled with the expression on his face, eyes intense and lips slightly parted- he was a pretty picture indeed.

But then, _then_ , Enjolras lifted a hand and held it out towards Grantaire in supplication, causing the latter to freeze in place.

"Grantaire." Enjolras licked his lips. "Grantaire, would you…?"

Damn.

It was only a great love for Enjolras and, as a result, a desire to mind his limits that prevented Grantaire from jumping on him. How long had he waited for such an invitation? How long had he dreamt of being with Enjolras in the most intimate physical way?

Too long.

Grantaire took his hand and knelt on the bed, adjusting himself so that he remained balanced. "Are you certain you're ready for this?" He asked, but it seemed unnecessary because _God_ did Enjolras look eager.

"Yes." The blonde confirmed, sliding his fingers over Grantaire's wrist. "Let's do something before I lose my nerve."

They kissed, and kissed passionately. The removal of clothing took at least ten minutes, so reluctant were they to part from one another for so long. Enjolras was braver than in their previous encounters, hands jumping around not from nervousness but rather exploration, and there was no hesitation as he undid his shirt and trousers, pulling them off and throwing them to the side.

His readiness was contagious, and for a moment, Grantaire allowed himself to lose some of his caution and treat Enjolras as he would a seasoned lover, kissing and touching and groping without restraint. Enjolras met him every time, matching his energy and vigor perfectly and _Christ,_ but Grantaire was relieved to finally be rid of his pants. When they were down to pure skin, Dionysus held his Apollo close and sighed. It was far better than any fantasy could hope to be.

They found themselves in familiar positions: Enjolras against the pillow, and Grantaire leaning over him. Here, some of Enjolras's confidence fell away as he realized how exposed they were, how exposed _he_ was, and the blush that came then could be seen over a significant portion of his body. "You are lovely." Grantaire murmured, fingers brushing Enjolras's cheek. The younger man turned his head to touch those fingers with his lips, and then looked back up at Grantaire in anticipation, waiting for a cue to tell him what to do next.

Tonight, Grantaire would be taken by Enjolras. This first time together Grantaire wanted Enjolras to be comfortable; if things were switched there would be pain involved, and that was not meant for tonight. If Enjolras wanted it after tonight- or even later on in the evening, if he was up to it- Grantaire would oblige. But this very first time would be without pain, without discomfort, giving Enjolras a chance to find security in this new stage of intimacy between them. Grantaire would make no mistakes tonight.

He sucked his fingers into his mouth, and then reached back and started to stretch himself. "For the sake of certainty, let me hear it again: You want this?"

"I want you." Enjolras said, and there was a tiny, tiny flash of irritation in his eyes. "Don't make me repeat it again."

"Always good to check."

"What are you doing?"

"Ensuring that I'll be able to at least hobble tomorrow." He ducked down to kiss Enjolras again; the finer mechanics of the act would be better explained later on, when his fingers weren't inches away from his prostate and the most beautiful man in the world wasn't aroused and willing beneath him. Once he was satisfied that he had been properly prepared, Grantaire withdrew his fingers and moved back a bit. "Same thing as before- try not to move your hips."

Enjolras whimpered when Grantaire took him into his mouth, and the older man made a note to himself that a lesson in proper oral sex was long, _long_ overdue. But now wasn't the time, and he pulled off only a few seconds after he had begun, just enough- as he had last time- to provide proper lubrication.

The blonde watched attentively as Grantaire positioned himself over his member, gripping it in one hand while the other grasped Enjolras's hip to keep him steady. As overwhelming as the sensation of sinking down onto the object of his long-standing affection was, Grantaire forced himself to keep his eyes open so that he could watch Enjolras's reaction unfold.

" _Oh_ …" Enjolras's head tipped back, his eyes squeezed shut and then abruptly opened again. His breath came faster as his eyes widened, pupils dilating, flipping between Grantaire's face and the sight of his cock being enveloped by the dark-haired man. Suddenly, "What- What do I do?" He sounded slightly panicked, as though the entire situation would come crashing down around their heads if he didn't flawlessly keep up with the pace.

"Shh, calm down. It's all right." Grantaire was hard-pressed to keep his voice steady and soothing with Enjolras's cock buried within him, but he managed well enough. Now that his right hand was free, he used it to rub Enjolras's chest reassuringly. "You don't need to do anything. Just-" Grantaire accidentally shifted his hips and had to bite back a low moan. "Just lie back." And seeing the look on Enjolras's face, he chuckled. "You'll have ample time to work out in the future. For now, watch and learn."

Grantaire rocked his hips back and forth, shivering and finally letting his eyes fall shut. "God, God. Enjolras." He murmured, pushing himself up to his knees and then coming down again, tentatively starting a steady rhythm of movement until the headboard of the bed was thumping against the wall with it. As the pleasure grew stronger, Grantaire became a little more desperate, now resembling the role he had taken in some of his late-night fantasies where Enjolras fucked him into the nearest surface. "Enjolras- touch me? Please?" He said.

It took a moment for the request to register, so far gone was Enjolras. But once he had, Enjolras gently took Grantaire into hand and started to stroke. His grip was careful enough to be tolerable without lubrication, and soon enough they made up two parts of one larger, writhing mass of erratic movement. Even with blood rushing in his ears Grantaire could hear Enjolras's lovely little noises, his mewls and his moans and his stuttered, shaky breaths.

"Enjolras, how do you like it?" He managed, and the blonde shuddered.

"Harder." Was the response, and Grantaire uttered a laugh that devolved into a groan.

"I can do that." He picked up the pace, and with the right angle Enjolras's cock was slamming into just the right spot; another minute or two and he saw stars, and then the world fell into silence and darkness like the snuffing of a candle.

Then everything came back, and Grantaire was treated to the sight of Enjolras's eyes rolling back in an orgasm. His hands left Grantaire's member and grabbed the man's waist, as though he was trying to anchor himself amidst the disorienting feelings he was experiencing. Enjolras was lost for a moment, hips still snapping up reflexively- and then he was limp, body motionless except for his heaving chest.

Grantaire wasn't certain why he felt like laughing.

"So tell me, Enjolras," He panted as he slowly pulled himself off of the younger man. "Have you ever felt such pleasure? Has your beloved Patria ever reduced you to such a state? I think not."

"Aren't you just as smug as you could be?" Enjolras muttered. "It puts me in a mind to wipe that smile off of your face."

"Oh-ho," Grantaire flopped down beside him with a rakish grin and draped an arm over the other man's chest. "I think perhaps I've created a mons-" He was cut off by Enjolras seizing him in a kiss that had all of his usual confidence and strength, not a hint of the young man who squirmed at being touched a few weeks before.

And as charming as Enjolras's inexperience had been, Grantaire loved it.

-End

**Author's Note:**

> God, I don't even know what this turned into. I hope it's all right- I've been writing it over a span of days, and my ability to focus and spin words has varied quite a bit in that time.


End file.
